Requirements
by Hopeakaarme
Summary: The Room of Requirements is supposed to be able to give you anything you might need. Harry, however, needs no material things. He craves comfort, company, care, and calmness. Complete.
1. Comfort

Disclaimer: I own none of it.

A/N: I wanted to write some bittersweet angst. Thus, I wrote some bittersweet angst.

* * *

Requirements

Comfort

* * *

Harry stared at the door in front of him, the last tears stinging in his eyes when he had ages ago cried himself drained of them. He knew what would await him behind the door, and yet, he did not. How could he, any more than he could really know what he'd see in the Mirror of Erised before looking into it? Who could ever know what they truly wanted, what they truly needed?

_The Room of Requirement_. It was supposed to contain anything a person might need. Anything.

And yet, it could not give him what he needed. He needed a shoulder to cry on, a warm hug, a familiar voice telling him that he was doing fine and should go on. That somebody was proud of him.

They told him that often enough, true. Told him that they were proud of him, of his powers, of his ability to get over even the greatest fears and sorrows life would throw to his way. But it was not enough, it was not _right_. They thanked him for all the wrong things. Was it his own doing that he had great powers? Had he somehow earned the way he could close everything out of himself and still fight? No, he hadn't. So why were they proud of him because of those?

One person had not been proud of him for those reasons. He'd been glad that Harry had powers, yes. He'd been delighted that Harry was a great flyer, yes, that too. But most of all, he'd been proud of Harry because Harry had dared to be _himself_, to be something nobody else could be, because it was him. That one person had been proud of him just because he lived, because he _existed_, like every time he drew air to his lungs was a reason to celebrate and rejoice. It'd been the pride of a loving parent -- or something very, very similar to it.

_Sirius_.

That thought still stung. Sirius was there no more, no more would he be, not ever. Now that Harry needed him most, he was not there.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door in front of him. Through the doorway he saw darkness.

Harry took one tentative step into the room, letting the door slide shut behind himself. Just then he saw that it was not darkness there -- no, it was the night sky, with millions and billions of stars twinkling everywhere, above him, in front of him, below him. He was on the sky, and one star twinkled even brighter than the others.

"Sirius..." Harry sighed, more a quiet breath than a true word, not even as strong as a lone whisper. And at that quiet sigh the star seemed to come nearer, until it was all he saw -- until it enveloped him.

And yet it wasn't a star, not really. Harry felt warm, strong arms wrapping around himself, calming hands caressing his back, petting his unruly hair. He bent his head forward, felt a shoulder against his face and cried, cried against the shoulder that was now forever gone. And yet at the same time he felt other -- a shoulder was what he had pressed his face against, yet there were a few strands of hair tickling his cheek, fingertips touching slightly his forehead while they also petted his hair, his cheek, his back, his arm. A steadying arm both supported him and held him close, led him to the right direction and welcomed him as he was.

Sirius. Sirius. And not just one part of him, but everything he had been, everything he had done.

And then there was other than the touch. The sight -- candlelight flickering on the shiny midnight-black hair, sweaty tangles of dirty hair, pale eyes in the face of a black dog, eyes so dark they seemed fathomless, deep grey eyes watching him with such caring he'd never experience it from anybody, everything. And his voice -- warm, comforting words whispered to his ear, a joyous voice calling his name from afar, quiet breath breathing a comfortable silence, whispered words of longing from a distance so great he couldn't even begin to understand it. Harry also smelled Sirius -- the mix of a motorbike and brisk air he always connected with the teenager Sirius in his imagination, as well as the closed air of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, slight hint of mint, and a flicker of smoke from a fireplace that he had got accustomed to as the scent of the older Sirius.

It was not Sirius, not in his old form. Not a ghost, or an illusional image -- that wouldn't have helped him any. No, what he found in the room was just what he needed: The very existence of his beloved godfather.

For the one time in his life, his requirements were answered. His needs were fulfilled.

And for one, very short moment, Harry felt happy.

* * *

Don't tell me that it sucks. Just tell how much it sucks.

Next chapter (probably): **Company**

Harry needs company. The Room gives that to him, in its own, unique way.


	2. Company

Disclaimer: No, I own nothing... Expect for Sniffles.

A/N: I was on a dark mood today.

....No, no other explanations. Just be happy I updated.

---

Requirements

Company

---

Harry did not cry. He could not cry, for he'd a long time ago cried every tear that would still come out. Sirius had been the last person he'd mourned by tears. Everyone after him only got sad thoughts.

He remembered the one time he'd visited the Room of Requirements, right after Sirius's death, seeking comfort. He'd truly got comfort from it, in some odd, twisted way. For a moment, he had almost thought he could be happy some day.

This time, he was not seeking comfort, for he knew it wouldn't come. It hadn't ever come since. The one time he'd visited the room after that short moment of comfort, it hadn't been Sirius's being there. In the middle of the room, he had seen the sword of Gryffindor, buried deep down in the floor. Easily pulling it out of the stone, like some twisted repeat of Arthur Pendragon, he had then walked out of the room to face his destiny in a battle against Voldemort.

That battle was still going on. Every day, more and more people on both sides lost the fight. To this day, nobody had won. Most probably nobody ever would.

A tired chuckle, brought up by desperation and some strong need that bordered insanity, escaped his lips. No, nobody would ever win this fight. Even if he some day managed to destroy Voldemort -- which he really doubted -- he wouldn't still be the winner. Some thought that he would, that it would be a victory if he managed to fulfill the task the fate had thrown to his way without even asking, but he knew that it wouldn't be so. Even killing the Dark Lord wouldn't bring his friends back. Even triumph over the destroyed body wouldn't mend his broken heart, wouldn't take the loneliness away.

He'd lost them all, now. One by one, his friends had been taken down by the Dark Lord's followers, and he had been unable to save any of them. Sirius had only been the first one in a long chain of deaths and losses.

Ron had been the next one to go, he and his mother. While the others had stayed at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Molly had gone with her youngest son to fetch some things from home. Unfortunately, they'd soon discovered that the Burrow had been surrounded by Death Eaters. When the rest of the Order got to help, they hadn't even been able to recognize their bodies -- or what had been left of them. They'd put up a strong fight, yes, but in the end, they'd been beaten -- only because they cared for Harry, only because they were important to him.

Needless to say, he'd been very reluctant to let anybody near to him ever since. Hermione had been the only one whom he'd allowed to come through his hard cover. Even that had been hard -- Hermione was a wise and powerful witch, yes, but even she couldn't win a group of Death Eaters, and Harry didn't want her to come through -- but Hermione, being Hermione, had immediately seen through him. She'd told that he couldn't push her away with his cold behaviour, that he couldn't make her not care for him. Even if it took her life, she'd said, even if it took her life, she would stand by him to the very end, giving herself for the cause of Light.

Those words had echoed bitterly in his mind when the news of Hermione's death had reached him. It had been a suitable end for her, anyway. There had been some Dark Arts books in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library that Voldemort had wanted and the Order hadn't wanted to give to him. Hermione had just been fetching those books to safety when a couple of Death Eaters had managed to get through the wards -- not enough to take down the castle, no, far from that, but more than enough to get those precious books. Knowing their importance, as well as the fact that Voldemort would win if he got them, Hermione had made the Death Eaters chase her and the books to an abandoned corner of the restricted section. There she had pressed the books against herself and managed to whisper a spell that caused the books' self-defence charms flare up. The books had been burned to ashes, as well as the Death Eaters. As had Hermione.

She was the one who still remained, though. Her ghost, just as fast and brisk as Hermione had been in her life, now floated through the shelves in the library, helping them to research information in their fight against the Dark Lord. She was always there if Harry needed somebody to talk to, but it was not the same. In fact, Harry only became more agitated if he spent time with her, knowing that it had been this endless War and his inability to take Voldemort down earlier that had caused her untimely death.

After that, it had only got worse. Luna Lovegood had died while trying to protect some younger students, taken down by a well-aimed dagger a traitorous Slytherin third-year had thrown to her back. Her last words, told by the first-year Hufflepuff who'd alone still been alive when help came to the place, had been, "I'm seeing my Mother... And she's smiling at me." Harry truly hoped she had seen her. If it had been so, Luna had died happy.

He didn't think that kind of happiness could ever be given to him.

Neville. What had taken Neville? Ah, yes -- he'd gone along with Fred, attracting the Death Eaters after himself to give Ginny time to escape. Rather pointless, considering that Ginny had been killed only two days later.

More names floated into his mind, names and faces, dear friends and important allies. They'd all died, died for him, to give the others after them a couple of moments more time to live, him some more time to destroy Voldemort. And he'd failed them all. He still hadn't done what he had been born to do, still hadn't made their deaths mean anything. And now he was alone -- true, there were still many on their side alive, but not one he would call his friend.

Wondering what would await him inside, he opened the door and stepped inside.

The room was almost empty except for a small basket in the middle. Walking to the basket, Harry found a jet-black pup and a note inside.

He crouched down to look at the note. "_My name is Sniffles_," it read. "_Please take care of me_."

An almost hysterical laughter escaped Harry's lips. Sniffles, really. The only Snuffles had died ages ago -- okay, so it had only been two years, but it felt like forever! To him, at least -- as well as all his friends, died like mice in a monstrous cat's jaws, and all he could do was sniffling. He couldn't bring them back, he couldn't even have revenge, no, he just sat and mourned and did nothing to ensure that tomorrow there would be somebody who still remembered that they had ever lived, that they had once existed.

"Very well, Sniffles," he murmured, reaching out a hand to pet the pup's soft, midnight-black fur. "I will take care of you. But will you still exist if I take you out of this room? Or will you disappear, like I lost the comfort of Sirius?"

The pup opened its eyes, and two pale orbs locked their gaze at him. For a second, a flicker of hope flared high in his heart, only to die at the next moment. This dog wasn't an Animagus, it wasn't Sirius. It was just a pup -- a Grim pup, maybe, but still just an animal with no understanding of his pain and need.

Sniffles licked his outreached hand like trying to assure him of the fact that no, he wouldn't disappear, he would stay right by his side. He would stay, even if his Harry's friends were now away.

Then the pup sat up, and Harry's breath caught in his chest. Sniffles had a collar around his neck -- it was black, and almost unnoticeable. And there was something hanging on the collar.

A star, a tiny star hung there, no bigger than a thumbnail. And yet it was brighter than any star in the night sky.

"Sirius..." whispered Harry, not daring to touch the star, fearing that it might disappear. Long-forgotten tears dwelled up in his eyes again as he realized that no matter what, there was still somebody who was always with him.

He realized that no matter what, Sirius would keep him company.

---

Next chapter: **Care**

Harry thinks that nobody cares of him. He finds that it's not true.


	3. Care

Disclaimer: I only own Sniffles.

A/N: Somebody mentioned that Harry doesn't seem to be entirely healthy, as he doesn't mourn Ron and Hermione even near as much as he mourns Sirius. Well, I think that it might be very possible that Sirius's death twisted Harry in some way -- the nearest to a parent he has died in front of his eyes, how could it not affect him?

* * *

Requirements 

Care

* * *

There weren't tears in Harry's eyes. There hadn't been for a long time, he'd ages ago cried himself dry of them. But there was a sad look in them as he walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, his head bent down in sorrow and remorse. 

Remus had gone now, too. He'd tried to prevent it, tried to save the one person he still had left to remind him of Sirius and his parents, but he had failed. The werewolf had died, and he hadn't been able to even avenge his death. Harry had failed Remus, like he had failed everybody who ever cared for him.

But he hadn't anybody left who would care for him, now had he? No, he didn't. The people who now fought did watch him, expecting to see their saviour. They did not, however, see a dear friend or an almost-relative. When they died, their eyes would blame the enemy, not Harry, who'd failed them.

It didn't mean that it wasn't his fault, no. Every time he saw a warrior of Light who had fallen, he watched them, making sure their face was carved into his memory. There were so many, and every day there would be more. But none of those new people anymore hurt him, not as much as he had been hurt by the death of those he actually cared for, and received the same in return.

Well, he would never be hurt that way again, since there was nobody close to him anymore. Dumbledore, no matter how gentle and caring he seemed to be, only saw him as a pawn in his never-ending battle against the Dark Lord. To Snape, he was only a way to free himself of the burden of the Dark Mark, and to everybody else, he was just a warrior -- a warrior fighting for them, true, but nothing that held any personal value to anybody. Not a friend, or a son. Not anymore.

"Nobody really cares for me," he muttered to himself. "Nobody but you, Sniffles. They only care about the War, and destroying Voldemort. As long as I'm still alive and preparing to kill the old snake-face, I could cut my hand off and nobody would care -- unless it was my wand hand, of course."

The dog walking on his side barked once, then licked his hand. Sniffles had grown to be a beautiful dog, and a fierce fighter. He was like a replica of Snuffles, a fact that pained Harry every time he set his eyes on his last remaining friend. Still, Sniffles was his own being, and brought joy to Harry just by being there.

The young wizard couldn't help wondering just how long Sniffles would remain with him, how long it would take before the curse of his caring took the dog down also. After all, everybody else he'd ever cared for had died. Why would Sniffles escape that fate?

Suddenly, Sniffles stopped on his place, looking up at the young wizard like expecting him to do something. For a moment, Harry was confused. However, then he noticed where they were standing.

They were in front of the Room of Requirements. The very place where Sniffles had come from. And the dog was looking up at him, obviously expecting him to do something about the matter.

Harry sighed, and began to walk. As soon as the door appeared, he stepped forward to place a hand on the doorknob. For a moment, he hesitated. Did he even know what he needed?

Oh, he did. He needed to know that somebody still cared for him, that he hadn't failed everyone. And he needed to know that those whom he had already failed were still all right, and that they forgave him.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room. Once again, it was almost empty. In the middle of the room, however, he saw a familiar-looking stone bowl.

A Pensieve.

Bracing himself for whatever would come, Harry walked to the magical object. Then, Sniffles's pale blue eyes sharp on him, he entered the Pensieve.

* * *

Harry was staring straight ahead himself, not really seeing anything. The adult members of the Order exchanged concerned glances over his head. 

"Hey, Harry?" asked Tonks suddenly. "Would you like some more toast?"

Harry turned towards her, and shook his head slowly. "No, thanks, Tonks," he said quietly. "Thank you for offering, though, but I'm not that hungry."

While his eyes were locked at the witch, and he was momentarily unaware of the plate of food in front of him, Mundungus, who sat on his other side, added some more food onto his plate. Then the not-so-law-abiding wizard just sat on his place, completely oblivious to anything else but his own meal when Harry turned back, not noticing the addition of food on his plate.

* * *

Harry, exhausted from the battle that day, had fallen asleep on the couch in the Grimmauld Place. The door was opened silently. After a second, like the incomer had hesitated, somebody stepped in. 

A tall, slender form walked to the couch. Glancing down at the exhausted young hero, the person shook his head slowly. Then he conjured a blanket and tucked Harry in, took his glasses off and placed them on the nearby table, and then wiped a strand of jet-black hair away from his face. For a short moment, the mysterious figure just stood there, looking down at him as if deep in thought.

After that, Severus Snape left the room just as silently as he had come.

* * *

It was dark and quiet in Harry's bedroom. Only a couple of quiet whimpers broke the silence from time to time as the young saviour of the Wizarding World turned and tossed on his bed. The blanket that had been covering him had fallen aside, leaving him bare to the cold air in the room. 

"Harry?" asked a deep, quiet voice from the doorway. "Harry, are you having a nightmare?" As no coherent answer could be heard, Kingsley Shacklebolt sighed and walked to the room. He lifted the blanket from the floor and tucked the young hero in. A flicker of his wand lit flames into the fireplace.

Then he just sat there beside Harry's bed, petting the young man's unruly hair until the nightmare left the young wizard and his sleep became even and undisturbed.

* * *

It was oddly dim. There wasn't light, nor was there darkness, just dimness, like a soft shadow had enveloped everything, covering the world with its almost-light. And in the middle of that shadow, a man walked. 

His robes were no more shabby, his steps no more tired. His walk was brisk and fast, his prematurely greying head held proudly up, his amber eyes shining with a new power. He was a new Remus Lupin.

"Oi! Remus!" shouted a happy voice as the werewolf approached something that seemed to be light in the middle of the shadow. After a moment, a motherly-looking woman strolled forwards, and enveloped the frail man in a warm hug. "How is everyone over there?" Molly asked in her usual mother-hen manner. "Harry is fine, isn't he? Have you heard anything from Bill and Charlie?"

"Let him be, Molly," Arthur laughed behind his wife. "He's barely reached our new land yet, and you're already fussing over him. I'm sure there are some people he'd like to talk with first."

"Oh, of course," the Weasley mother said. "Come on, Remus, I'll show you to Lily and James. We're all staying around them, you know, 'cause that's where Harry will come then... And they're such pleasant company, and so young! Oh, it's like I was seeing Harry again, they resemble each other so much..."

Remus smiled and shook his head at the motherly woman's endless chatter. "Calm down, Molly," he said. "I'm sure Harry will stay over there for still some time. It's not like we should tell him to hurry dying, now is it? He has a war to win, and then he'll surely want to enjoy normal life when he's finally given a chance to that."

"Oh, of course," continued Molly. "It's just that the young are getting bored here -- Ron especially, he's so frantic to hear some news from Harry. I've heard that Hermione won't cross the line here until she's done everything she can for the War. Is that true?"

"Oh, it's perfectly true," confirmed Remus. "Would you ever expect anything else from her? Besides --"

He was interrupted when somebody ran to him and closed him into another embrace. "Moony!" exclaimed James Potter. "Really, we've been waiting for you so long! What took you down, old mate?"

"A too well aimed silver dagger, that's what did it," Remus told with a little grimace. "Come on, James, I didn't come all the way here only to tell you how I died. Surely there's something else to talk about?"

"Of course, of course," the other Marauder said, mirth in his eyes. They were now reaching the light. There Remus saw a whole new world -- flowers, trees, houses, and familiar faces everywhere. "Now come on here, Lily has already put the kettle on. You can tell all the latest news of Harry!"

Molly smiled. "He never wants to talk about anything else," she informed Remus. "Well, not much anything else. Sometimes he also asks of you and Sirius, and whether Wormtail has been caught."

"Figures." Remus grinned. "Very well, my dear Marauder friend. Let's discuss your son over a cup of tea."

A moment of time later -- although there was not really time, not anymore -- they were sitting around a table in a house that resembled remarkably the Potters' previous home at Godric's Hollow. "You would be so proud of Harry," Remus said quietly, watching Lily and James over the rim of his cup. "He's grown to be a wonderful young man. He's so brave, and powerful. He has done more than any of us could have ever imagined -- and he's still fighting."

"That sounds like my son," James said, a bit sad smile gracing his lips. Then he frowned. "Everybody who comes here and recognizes us keeps telling that Sirius is dead. If it is so, then why isn't he here already?"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "He loves Harry, James, that's why. He would have happily given his life for him. The boy's like his own son, and he probably thinks Harry's more his than yours. Do you really think that he will ever come here before Harry's there to walk with him?"

* * *

Harry didn't cry. He hadn't cried for years. But there was a slight glimmer in his eyes when he came back to reality. 

Ron missed him, the Weasleys missed him -- they didn't think he had failed them. And Sirius...

Sirius was waiting for him. He had not gone forward, he was still waiting for Harry somewhere -- perhaps in that dimness Remus had walked through? Or was there still something before it?

It didn't matter. All that mattered was that some people still cared for him, hadn't abandoned him -- both alive and dead.

Or somewhere in-between, like Sirius.

* * *

Next (and last) chapter: **Calmness**

Harry's been through too much. Now that he has fulfilled his destiny, all he wishes for is some peace.


	4. Calmness

Disclaimer: I own very little. I do own Sniffles, though.

A/N: And so this fic, too, comes to its end. Yay! One WIP less. And I promise I won't start a new one... At least not on this week. No, seriously, I do promise. I'll be a good girl and wait at least a week before I start a new WIP.

Plotbunnies already are chasing me! Help me! AAAAAAAAAAAGHH!

* * *

Requirements 

Calmness

* * *

Harry's steps were slow as he walked through the empty corridors of Hogwarts. Some time before the cries of war had echoed there, now the sound of his steps was the only thing that could be heard. The battlefield had fallen silent, the injured people's groans and whimpers being the only sounds there. 

Voldemort had finally fallen, but so had many, many others. Dumbledore himself had died, trying to buy Harry some more time to destroy Voldemort. Snape had blown up at least twenty Death Eaters -- and himself. Well, he'd always been a drama queen, being a suicide bomber seemed to fit him just well. And Sniffles -- yes, Sniffles had jumped in front of a curse aimed at Harry, giving him just the second he needed to take down the Dark Lord.

Now, it was over. But nobody was at his side to celebrate this victory.

Oh, of course there were many survivors. Many of them, hundreds, thousands, the whole Wizarding World. It just seemed that the dead were all those whom Harry had known, those whom he had imagined to be with him when the Second War was finally over. It pained him, knowing that they were not there with him to see his final victory, the one they had all fought so much for.

No, Harry was alone. Nobody would be there to make him annoyed by ruffling his hair and saying that he had been a good little boy, nobody would slam his back and congratulate him for "taking the old snakeface down". Oh, he would get awards and medals, that he was sure of, but it would not be the same.

Never the same.

When he'd been younger, he'd imagined that he could have a normal life after Lord Voldemort had been destroyed. Now, however, he saw that it could not be so, not ever. He'd always be singled out, no more as the Boy Who Lived, but as the Man Who Won. And none of his dead friends would be there with him. He could not return to his usual life, because there was nothing for him to return to. What he had thought to be usual life had been taken from him, all of it.

He opened the door to the Room of Requirements very, very slowly.

And there, in the middle of the room, he saw the answer.

* * *

After the Battle of Victory, nobody could tell where Harry Potter was. He couldn't be found anywhere. After some frantic searching and looking, Nymphadora Tonks, one of the few survivors in the rows of the Order of the Phoenix, got an odd moment of sensible thinking. Leading the searchers to the Room of Requirements, she explained that as they now needed to find Harry more than anything, they would find him in the room. Then, she opened the door. 

There wasn't any sign of Harry there. But from what they found they knew what had happened as well as if they had witnessed it themselves.

There was no blood in the room, no body. In the middle of an empty, circular room they saw a familiar-looking stone archway. They saw only an ancient, tattered jet-black veil hanging on the archway, wavering slightly as if an invisible breeze had been blowing from somewhere, capturing its aged corners in an endless dance through the air. On the thick layer of dust on the floor they saw footprints leading to the archway -- and disappearing when they at last reached it.

There was no telling what was behind the Veil, as nobody had ever crossed it and returned to tell about the reality beyond it. Most said it was death, pure and simple; some said that it was something much more -- or maybe something much less. But whatever it was, they knew that it was what Harry needed -- and they all knew what that was, and that he'd got what he'd craved for so many painful years through the war.

To rest in peace.

* * *

When Harry opened his eyes, he was immediately closed into a warm hug. "Welcome, Harry!" said Sirius joyously. "I've been waiting for you for so long!" 

"...Sirius?" Harry breathed, not daring to believe it true. Could he really have found Sirius so soon? "How -- how are you here already? Why haven't you -- gone forward?"

"Why, I waited for you, lad, of course," replied the Animagus cheerfully. "Do you really think I would have crossed the line without you?" With a laugh, he added, "No, I've been waiting for you, and so've been we all. The ones coming here have kept us updated about what happened. Your parents are really proud of you, Puppy."

"They shouldn't be," Harry said quietly as he started to walk with Sirius, walk through the dim light that seemed to surround them from everywhere. "I failed everyone... I let you all die."

"Not your fault, Harry," Sirius said firmly. "Never your fault... You have failed nobody. You won the world for those who are coming after us." Then he exclaimed, "Look! The way's not that long, we're already near! They're coming towards us!"

And truly, a familiar form trotted through the dimness, approaching like a messenger of the new life that waited them in the light that shone from the horizon. Sniffles barked happily as he reached them, circling Harry. The star on his collar had disappeared, though, its twinkle now living on in Sirius's eyes.

"Harry!" shouted a familiar voice. When he raised his eyes, he saw Ron waving to him from afar. When they reached the redhead, he was again closed into a warm hug. "Aww, mate, we've been waiting for you like forever," announced the boy. "You had us really worried there. Professor Lupin said you hadn't been doing too well when he left. And when Dumbledore and Snape then arrived from the middle of the battle... Well, we thought you would come back soon, and accompanied by a lot more people!"

"Awww, let him be," Hermione commanded. Her ghost had disappeared from Hogwarts some time before, seemingly to walk the rest of the way there. "He's surely anxious to see everybody again -- especially his parents!"

"My parents..." echoed Harry quietly. "You know, I never expected that I would really see them."

"Didn't you listen to Luna?" scolded Hermione. "She told us that she'd told you that she heard voices behind the Veil. Why ever would she have lied to you? ...Look, we're almost there!"

And so, Harry saw the light. He saw the bright green eyes of his smiling mother, the wave of his father, who was no older than he was. And he saw also all his friends, all his lost friends whom he had thought he had failed completely, and who were still eagerly waiting for him. Even Snape stood there, his arms crossed strictly over his chest, his sneer looking a tad less vicious than usually.

And Sirius was there, beside him, a hand on his shoulder guiding him towards his parents.

Suddenly, Harry was crying again, for the first time in Merlin knew how many years. But they weren't tears of pain and sorrow anymore -- they were tears of joy.

THE END

* * *

Well? Was it too sappy? Too stupid? Too something else? Tell me! 


End file.
